Couple of urban myths that have done the rounds here, first, a bloke is in bed and hears a noise outside, he gets up, no brownhatters overalls, he's in the buff, he goes down stairs to the front door, the letterbox is down at the bottom of the door, so he gets down on all fours and peeps through the flap, his dog hearing the noise comes out to see whats going on, and puts his cold nose right on the blokes button, the bloke screams leaps up, smacks head on door knob and knocks himself out.
Second, old bloke goes for a haircut, sits in chair, girl throws sheet over him and starts to cut, soon the girl sees the sheet on his lap going up and down quite briskly, she goes and tells the bloke who owns the shop, he come over sees the sheet pumping up and down, you dirty f****r slaps him a couple of times and rips away the sheet to see the old boy is cleaning his glasses with the end of his T-shirt. The people and places change with telling as does the violence and injury sustained

Another myth is the bloke wearing overalls getting caught short,rushing into the bog yanking his ovies, bags and knicks down and throwing himself onto the throne, promptly shits into the back his overalls. He of course, doesn't notice this, such is his relief, and puts his clobber back on and walks out of the crapper with a huge shit stain down his back, much to the amusement of his workmates. I'll bet that this has been allegedly witnessed in hundreds of factories and transport cafes throughout this fair land.

Another myth is the bloke wearing overalls getting caught short,rushing into the bog yanking his ovies, bags and knicks down and throwing himself onto the throne, promptly shits into the back his overalls. He of course, doesn't notice this, such is his relief, and puts his clobber back on and walks out of the crapper with a huge shit stain down his back, much to the amusement of his workmates. I'll bet that this has been allegedly witnessed in hundreds of factories and transport cafes throughout this fair land.

How about the woman who's been stuck in traffic between Chiswick and East Sheen and bursting for a widdle. On arrival in Sheen, rushes into the flat, to the bog, pulls down her knickers and procedes to piss through her tights. Her fault? no. Husbands fault for rushing her and making her rig in the wrong order. If you suggest to my ex wife that she is an urban myth, I hope you can duck or weave fast.

Not a myth but it's a true, I think, funny story that POL has just reminded me about.

Picture the scene if you will: It's the end of quite a long day for Captain XYZ of British Airways. He'd flown three sectors about Europe and had arrived at the hotel in Madrid. He'd partaken of the crew food since the forenoon watch and things had started to back up to such an extent that he was hopping from toe to toe at the hotel reception, literally touching cloth. Grabbing his room key/key card he made his excuses to the crew and rushed off to the lift, carefully clenching his arse cheeks while trying to wheel his case behind him (looking like a very convincing mince). He reached the allocated floor, tore from the lift and shuffled quickly to his room. Door open, bag ditched instantly, dash into trap one with not even time to close the door and then pure bliss. Loads of parping sounds to accompany the flock of sparrows that seemed to be flying around the bathroom and the grunting sounds of pure relief shattered the Spanish night. As our intrepid hero sat, sighing, atop his throne, bathing in the beauty that was his own aroma he became aware of voices that got louder and louder and then the room light clicked on, followed shortly thereafter by a bloke appearing at the bathroom door wondering what the hell was going on.

Of course, the hotel had double-booked the room and Captain XYZ had just defiled the crapper of Mr & Mrs Tourist who were deep in sleep but then disturbed by the elephant trumpeting and unloading stores in their toilet.

Another truey this one, (perhaps we should start a new thread), A few years ago Mick, one of our drivers, arrived at a turkey farm absolutely busting for a crap. He sreeched to a halt right by the farm office, dived out of the lorry and rushed to the bog. The toilet at this farm is one those narrow affairs about as wide as the door, requiring a reversing manoeuvre to gain access. Mick dropped his kecks, backed in and sat straight on the lap of Sandra, the farm assistant, who was already in residence!

A certain shore establishment, which shall remain nameless.There was someone (AKA the Phantom) going around leaving turds in unexpected places.tops of lockers, landrover seats,window sills.Just left everyone very nervous about where they stepped, sat etc. The CO clears the lower deck, and makes the speech. 'This person obviously has a problem, will be given help, treated sympathetically, come forward, blah blah blah', etc. As the mob disperses after this, someone is heard to say. 'He hasn't proved himself as the Phantom until he gets one in the Bosses cap'. Next morning..... The CO comes into his office to find one neatly coiled into his cap, which is sitting upside down on his desk. Que another muster parade, with a less sympathetic tone..' When I get this Bastard, and mark my words I will..etc, etc'. Needless to say he didn't get him, and the 'attacks' stopped.The Phantom had reached the zenith of his career,and could do no more..

We had the Phantom crapper in our block in Collingrad in the. 70's. Usually the shower or bath then one day in the spin dryer. Oppo spends the morning doing his dhobying, gives it a spin and has nice beige whites.
L/ S on the Onslaught goes for a desperate dump during the middle, loud groans of relief heard in the control room followed by an out burst of expletive's . Said leading hand enters control room looking like Quasimodo. Everyone takes one pace rearwards to allow him space and us breathable air. Skipper requests Chief Stoker to turn on the showers so he can clean up and wash his one and only set of Ovies.

I think this was one of Spike Milligans, city gent goes off to work, bowler, brolly, the full issue, at work his guts start and he's just about holding on, come clocking off, he heads for the train but on the way sneezes and shits himself, stopping at a department store he calls to an assistant and gives her a handful of dosh for, 32 waist, 32 leg, pants, any colour/style, a different girl returns, gives him a bag and off he sprints, on the train he goes to the heads, removes his pants and boxers, throws them out the window opens the bag to find a womans pink crew neck pullover, he pushes his legs through the arms, and secures the pullover round his waist with his tie, seeing his nuts are hanging out the neck, he shoves his bowler down the front, so he ends up looking like he's wearing pink leggings and a huge black cod piece, leaving the train he goes to the ticket collector who over many years has seen him nothing but impeccably dressed, who says, evening Mr ?, been on yer olidays